


What If Derek Hale Was A Pop Star

by sourirs (sourirpourmoi)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Stiles, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Stiles, Bonding, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Everybody knows about werewolves and it's not that big a deal, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, Mates, Pop Star Derek, and myself of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:52:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sourirpourmoi/pseuds/sourirs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he lay on his lumpy bed he considers his fucking life.</p><p>Derek Hale rejected him.</p><p>Derek Hale disappeared.</p><p>Derek Hale became a Popstar.</p><p>Derek professed his fucking love to Stiles. On TV. On national fucking TV.</p><p> </p><p>In an AU where Werewolves are known and new werewolves each get assigned a mentor, Scott's was Derek Hale. Scott and Stiles are a package, where Scott goes Stiles follows and vice versa. Stiles pretty much fell in love with Derek and Derek straight up told him no.<br/>Derek disappears soon after and no one hears of him for two years. Until he becomes a music sensation and tells the world that Stiles is his someone special.<br/>*slides the fact that Stiles will b an actor in this fic and walks away shadily*<br/>Cue shenanigans and stupidity on my part and angst with some humour on theirs.</p><p> </p><p>(Yes this was inspired by the Eurovision contest. Sorry, not sorry)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And then Derek was a singer.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS HAPPENED.

“Hey, remember that Derek Hale that used to creepy stalk your room?” Scott says, mouth wide open and eye’s flitting from the door to the TV.

“Yeah? So?” Stiles replies stiffly, his tone making it so god-damn clear he did NOT want to talk about dick-douche-dog Derek. No, sir. Not after the prick had eloquently said in less than three words he and Stiles would never be.

There was some douche on Ellen. Saying how his music is inspired by all the heartbreaks he had to endure. A load of bull shit Stiles thinks. Ellen asks him if theres someone special for him and he laughs, muttering  _hold on I’ll ring them._

_  
_Stiles spares a minute to wistfully dream that he was that celebritys sweetheart before he reminds himself that everyone’s a douche in the music industry.

“Apparently he’s a pop star.” Scott says casually. Like it’s casual. Like anything about Derek freaking Hale is casual. LIKE THE FACT HE’S A FUCKING POP STAR IS CASUAL.

Stiles jaw drops open and Scott fixes him with a sympathetic look.

“Holy-” Stiles phone begins vibrating obnoxiously in his back pocket and he fumbles to grab it quick.

He looks at the caller ID and his air seems to disappear.

_Derek Hale_

_“_ Answer!” Scott screams at him, his voice too loud for their shitty dorm room.

Stiles doesn’t answer. Slowly he turns his phone of and turns to look at Derek. On the fucking TV.

Derek, mini TV, Derek, sighs on screen before putting his phone away. He turns to look directly at the camera, directly at Stiles.

“Hi.” he whispers.

Stiles is minutely aware of Scott turning the volume up and grabbing phone but nothing else, all his attention is focused on the freaking gorgeous creature on the TV.

“It’s been two years, Stiles. Pick up the phone.” 

Stiles chokes and the air comes whooshing out of him as he tries desperately to breathe.

“Pick up so I can start again. With ‘Hi’”

TV Derek disappears. The whole screen goes black. 

“Sorry!” Scott screams trying in vain to place the wires he’d tripped over back in place.

“No. It’s fine.” Stiles says. He gets up and goes to his room, ignoring Scotts calls.

As he lay on his lumpy bed he considers his fucking life.

Derek Hale rejected him.

Derek Hale disappeared.

Derek Hale became a Popstar.

Derek professed his fucking love to Stiles. On TV. On national fucking TV.

Stiles groans and rubs his hands over his face.

How the hell was this his life?


	2. Stiles' life. What the hell.

Stiles woke to noise. Noisy noise.

Go away, noise.

Noise wouldn’t go away. In fact noise was so rude that noise burst into his room and launched itself on him in the form of Scott.

“I will drop holy water down your eyeballs, you demon.” Stiles mutters groggily, flailing his hands about in Scotts general direction hoping to slap him or something.

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.” Stiles shoves his duvet over his ears and attempts to block out Scotts pathetic pining.

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles,stiles,stiles,stiles,stiiilles…. Stiles.”

“Oh my fucking god! What?!” Stiles shouts, pissed beyond recognition that Scott would actually disturb his Saturday. He shoves the covers down to glare at his best friend.

Scott has the decency to look slightly sheepish before his expression turns serious and he drops a newspaper on Stiles’ lap.

“Seriously. All of that, for a fucking newspaper. A newspaper. What century do you- Holy mother of pearl. No fucking way.” Stiles whispers as his eyes frantically scan over the front page.

“Yes fucking way dude.” Scott inputs unhealthy and Stiles dismisses him with a floppy and heavy hand.

Stiles can’t even- He just can’t. He has officially stop can-ing.

Cos there’s Derek. On the front page. Smiling like it’s christmas.

Okay. Thats okay. Derek smiling is good.

The headline, however is not.

_Mysterious Stiles breaks the hearts of millions fangirls._

_  
_Stiles keeps reading because for the life of him, he could never walk away from a situation that could hurt him.

_Fans declare war on “Stiles” vowing to tear apart the person who inspired Derek’s song, “If You Only Knew”_

_Derek Hale is being tightlipped about his association with “Stiles”_

_“Stiles” who? Did Derek Hale make a person up on a whim? Is he slowly going insane?_

_  
_“Nngh.” Stiles lets out as he stutters over the last line. Mother fucker.

“Yeah man. Did you and- I mean were you two-” Scott tries looking ridiculously uncomfortable.

“No Scott. We were never a thing.” Stiles says, taking pity on his friends distress. “Not for lack of trying on my part though.” he adds on under his breath.

“Scott!” Calls a voice from the corridor. Stiles face pales and his balls try to crawl their way up his body. “Stiles!” Says the voice and Stiles prepares himself.

Erica comes bursting through the door of his room, hands laden with shopping bags.

“You.” Stiles seethes at Scott. “We are going to have a long chat about privacy my friend.” Scott just shrugs in apology walking out the room and leaving Stiles with-

“Erica!” He cheers, “Oh how I’ve missed you!”

“Shut up. Derek?! Derek, Stiles!” She says as she whips out her Blackberry. Other than just his agent, Erica was like his friend. A friend who frequently set him up on awful dates, found his pain amusing and more recently was his fashion guru.

“I don’t know. Seriously, I swear to god I dont.” He mumbles dejectedly from his huddle on his bed.

“Have you talked to him?” Erica sighs and Stiles just knows there’s a speech coming.

“No.”

“Right. Of course you haven’t.” Erica says, she turns and for a full thirty seconds Stiles thinks she’s just on her blackberry, or reading through the draft on his desk. Or something other than ON HIS FUCKING PHONE.

“Erica!” He screams, flailing out of the bed and prayed to the ninja gods to make this work.

He falls on his ass. The ninja gods have failed him.

“Oh, don’t cry Stiles.” Erica says as she throws his phone at him. Her stupid heels clip clop away. “Don’t forget to try all that on.”She says gesturing to the bags before disappearing out the door.

Stiles huffs and puffs. He leds his head bang on the bed. He circles in his huddle spot three times.

Finally he gives in and checks his phone.

_Hey, we need to talk. Meet me at Wendlock Cafe at 6pm? - Stiles_

_  
_Oh jesus. That sounds so unlike him, it’s unreal. Which is fucking ironic because it wasn’t him. Oh jesus. Stiles groans and plants his head back on the bed. He’s about to moan when a DING! distracts him. He looks back down at his phone, dread creeping in.

_See you then ;) - Derek_

_  
_“I’m fucked.” Stiles whispers.


	3. Stiles is a good catch.

_Stiles was breathing heavily as he ran through the forst. Scott needed him. Scott was having an attack, he needed Stiles._

_So Stiles ran as fast as he could to his best friend he ran and ran until he burst into the clearing where he had left Scott before. He fumbled in his pocket for the inhaler and moved quickly to where Scott was kneeled on the floor._

_"He won't be needing that anymore." a voice said from behind him. Stiles spun and his eyes tried to focus through the night on the approaching figure._

_Scott let out a whimper of pain and Stiles' attention reverted back to his best friend._

_"Listen. I don't know who the hell you are but I am so done with this shit right now, my best friend just collapsed, he's acting weird and his eyes changed colour so if you think you can come in here and brutally murder us, think again mister because I AM DONE." Stiles said frantically gesturing to the figure to leave him the fuck alone._

_"Your friend's becoming a werewolf, his gene was activated earlier." that stranger said, finally coming into the light and- no. Just. No._

_That's it. Stiles' mind just stopped. Because werewolf?! Nnngh! and woah, creepy muder dude was hot as fuck._

_"Ba-huh?" Stiles whispered, trying to get his mind working again._

_The stranger held out a card to him and Stiles took it with shaking fingers. So stranger was a Mentor. Not quite the muderer but the leather jacket doesn't help his case much._

_"Derek Hale. I'm Scott's mentor." Stranger- Derek held out a hand and Stiles slowly took it._

_"Stiles." He managed. "I'm Scott's Stiles- er- Best friend."_

_Derek didn't smile. He looked at Stiles with his eyebrows raised. Stiles just can't catch a break can he. The eyebrows!? The eyebrows with the meh and the nnngh._

_Stiles realised too late he was still holding onto Derek's hand like a lifeline and jerked out of it as though it electrocuted him. Derek moved past him swiftly and knelt beside Scott._

_"Breathe through your nose and calm down." He said, rubbing small circles in Scott's back._

_Derek looked up at Stiles, who was still stood awkwardly in the clearing, and the moonlight just catches his face on the left._

_Holy mother of pearl, Stiles thought. He was fucked._

_=_

_  
_"You know what I just don't get," Isaac says through a mouthful of curly fries while Stiles picks miserably at his salad.

They were sat outside under the backdoor to the stage where Stiles had been dismissed for yet another interview. Isaac bless him came as soon as Stiles had text him, Scott being far too busy discussing nuclear physics (SUCKING FACE!) with Alison.

"Why Erica won't let me eat food?" Stiles grumbles. Isaac fixes him with a roll of his eyes and throws a measly fry his way. Stiles isn't ashamed to say he scoffed it down eagerly, come on, _curly fries_.

"Why you." Isaac says with a deeply thoughtful face. 

"Hey! Stiles is a good catch. Fuck that, Stiles is a great catch." Stiles says, snatching Isaac's frys in retaliation, he grins when he manages to snag the whole box. Isaac is no match for Stiles when he's this starved, werewolf reflexes notwithstanding.

"Yeah, I know you are man!" Isaac says looking all adorably distressed. "But why? I mean he left you didn't he? And now that he's all famous surely he's got groupies?"

"First of all, he didn't _leave me_. We were never together." Stiles clears, brandishing a fry like it's his metaphorical cane. "And second of all, who _wouldn't_ want a slice of this pie?"

"Dude I know some angry fangirls that would love to get their hands on your pie. It's so lucky you use your middle name on stage, otherwise your flat would be burned to the ground."

"Thanks Isaac, foreboding. Exactly what I freaking need right now."

"Yeah whatever, _Dominic_."

"You're an idiot."

Isaac legit _harumph_ s at Stiles who just shrugs and straightens his clothes up.

"Come on, we're going to be late for the rehearsal." Stiles mutters, trying his god-damn hardest not to think about Derek Freaking Hale and his freaking eyebrows. Or the fact that after rehearsal it would be five. FIVE O-FUCKING-CLOCK.

"I still don't understand that play. Who the hell is Earnest?" Isaac gets up and leads Stiles to his car.

"It's not important." Stiles smirks.

=

"Sit your ass down, Derek." Finstock says as soon as he walks through the office. 

Derek does as he's told.

"Derek."

"Yes, sir?"

"Have you gone bat shit fucking crazy?!"

"No I-"

"I mean, who in their right mind would go on TV and tell his entire fanbase he's unavailable-"

"Finstock I h-"

"-only a fucking idiot, not Derek Hale, voice of a god, no sir, not the Derek Hale signed to my label-"

"I had t-"

"Do you know how stupid I fucking looked?!" Finstock booms suddenly, rising up from his obnoxious swivel chair. Derek breathes through his nose and closes his eyes, willing them to turn back to their normal shade. Willing himself not to tear this fucking man apart.

"Now tell me, Derek. Who the hell is Stiles?" Finstock says sweet as sugar as he settles back down in his chair.

"That's none of your business." Derek says stiffly, his hands fisting on his thighs.

Finstock guffaws louldy at that and Derek levels him with a cold glare that shuts him up immediately.

"I know you young, hip kids _feel_ the music," Finstock plays around with hsi cursed stress ball. " You want the music to _mean_ something, all that artsy fartsy crap but the harsh truth is that if you're not hot, Derek, you won't sell. And there's nothing less hot than a man who's already in love. So who the fuck is it?"

Dereks lips remain in a tight line, he glares at Finstock.

"Okay fine, I don't care. All I care about is getting these profits up. Get out."

Derek gets up to leave, sighing as he does.

"Where are you going. Sit down. No, get out. Talk to your agent Boyng. Figure out a way to take this whole Stiles thing away, a joke or something. Just for gods sake, remain single."

Derek stares at Finstock, with his dishevelled hair and his pinstripe shirt and he wonders what the fuck a man like that is doing in the music industry.

He sighs again before leaving the office to make his way to Boyd's.

Derek wasn't going to admit he was an idiot, but christ, even he knows that was a dumb move to make.

It doesn't matter, he tells himself, as he makes his way through the swarm of fans and paparazzi that great him on the street.

Not if it gets Stiles, no, it doesn't matter at all.

 

 


	4. Memories are Painful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I know you guys expected something. But i gave you something else and hopefully cleared up a few bits and bobs. If not let me know and I'll sort it.  
> Also I'm english so this was tough as hell to set, any new yorkers wanna help me out here?  
> (If you happen to see an odd colour or arse, just ignore it.)  
> I really hope you like it. I love writing this so much, you're all so so kind.  
> Also this is a longish chapter (in comparison to the measly 1k'ers i had going before)

Stiles sighed as he put his script away. He was so fucking exhausted. 

Now don't get him wrong, he knew he was lucky as fuck to get the lead in a play by like the GOD of sarcasm, and so what if the theatre company was small scale and barely filled out half their seats. Stiles didn't freaking care, he was doing what he loved.

God, he freaking loved drama. There was nothing like it, the exhileration of being on stage, the thrill, the power, the raw emotion you get to tap into. There was nothing for Stiles but acting. He knew that, ever since he was a hyperactive sensitive kid.

The first time Stiles had ever auditioned for something that wasn't a school performance had been three years ago. He was seventeen at the time, angry and freaking hurt at how Scott had scoffed at him when he said he was going to audition. He'd walked into that room tense, every fibre of his being ready to jerk at a slight touch. 

 _Are you ready?_ They had said.  _No._ Stiles replied, launching passionately into his character. He took his emotions, he took his understanding of the charactor and became him, he cried in futile for his mother's marraige to his uncle. He seethed with anger at the unjustice. His pain bled into his delivery and the tension finally broke. Stiles broke down on _Be all my sins remembered_ , channelling the humilation, the futility in his dream, into Hamlet's famous words.

Silence met him when he finally looked up, he was emotionally drained, he had put his all into this. He had walked in here and delivered the soliloquy as though his life depended on it, and in some bitter sense it did. If this wasn't good enough, if Stiles' all, wasn't good enough he'd break.

Solwly they began to clap. Each casting member clapped him and gave him secret smiles. Then one spoke up and with a predatory smirk she said, "You kid, are gonna be huge."

To this day, it had been the best moment of his life.

Stiles got the part. He performed Hamlet for two weeks in a row and the praise he had gotten had made him buzz. Erica had watched him for each of those nights, waiting for him to slip up, she said, but he never did. Soon after she gave him the oppotunity to move to New York, it was just by sheer dumb luck that Scott and Allison got into University there.

Stiles had been ecstatic. His father had that mopey face on but told him he was proud and happy for him. Stiles was so fucking ready to do this, to act, finally!

And then Derek happened.

Well, Scott and Werewolfy-ness happened, but Stiles just labels the whole thing as Derek.

Now, everybody in the whole freaking world knew that, the change from human to werewolf was a tough one. Something had to trigger the gene and then bam, your insides began to metamorph into someone entirely different. It was moderately painful.

For Scott it had been the pain of his parents divorce. Stiles tried, he swears he tried as hard as he could, to get him through it but Scott had just got worse, he was moody, would snap at everything Stiles said, he pushed Allison, his mother, even Dr Deaton away. Technically it was inevitable, Scott's father was a Beta-level werewolf and when Scott's eye's began to glow amber, Stiles kind of knew. But Stiles kind of denyed it. And yeah Stiles kind of regretted that now.

Stiles was a good best friend. Scrap that. Stiles was the best freaking friend who ever freaking lived. Who else would shake their head at the plane tickets, at the chance to follow his dreams, for his best friend. No-one. That's right. No one was that freaking stupid. Except for Stiles.

So he stayed. For Der-Scott. For Scott. Erica had huffed and puffed, telling him he'd just lost an advert, an extra, a hopeless sidekick. And Stiles would apologise over and over again, because Scott needed him. Scott, his brother, needed him.

Without Stiles and just Mr Grumpyface Sourwolf, Scott wouldn't have been able to control his emotions, turning into the Omega's they'd all been taught about in P.D. A wolf that couldn't control their change, a wolf that was too sore, they were the ones that were sanctioned.

Of course, Grumpyface didn't think Stiles was needed. Or that he even helped. Which technically in some cases was true, like that time Stiles forced Scott to play Lightening Reaction and it had resulted in a Scott-shaped hole in his room. But that's not the point. Point is, Stiles and Derek didn't get along. And for the life of him, Stiles couldn't help falling in love.

Skip to one year later and Stiles thought it was time to act on it. Seriously. Derek had been leaving all sorts of clues and Stiles wasn't too stupid or too self-deprecating to blatently deny them. Until of course Derek blatently denied them. And that kind of put a bummer on Stiles whole life.

Stiles called Erica. He moved to New York. After a couple of months he managed to forget Derek Hale for the most part of a day. Scott, Allison and Lydia moved too, he met Isaac and things were going good. Erica had told him he'd missed too many oppotunities and getting back to where he was would be hard, but she'd try. Why was anybody's guess. Certainly not Stiles', he'd pretty much only caused her a monumental amount of shit over the past two years.

Everything was fine. And then Derek, freaking Derek, could sing. 

"Dominic?" Laura says, bringing Stiles back from his sad place. She hands him a bottle of yoohoo with a knowing smile and sits down next to him on stage, both their feet dangling over the edge.

"Whats up? What did I do wrong?" Stiles asks his director, concious of the fact he hadn't been giving his all today because of freaking circumstances.

"Nothing wrong! Just wanted to talk about how your performing Jack in relation to Ernest." She says. Laura was a good director. She saw things that very few people could see, she was subtle and symbollic and Stiles really appreciated the way she let the actors just act.

So it wasn't really a surprise when they became friends, outside of the proffessional setting.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. What I'm getting is a plain, easygoing, normal Jack." She starts marking rough pencil lines on her script. "And like a Gatsby kind of Ernest." She moves her hands about in a gesture that Stiles has long since recognise as 'INTENSE FEELINGS'. "Is that what you were going for?"

"Er- yeah. I guess." He mumbles.

"You guess? Dom. You're one of the best actors I have ever come across, I know you don't just guess how a character feels." Laura lets out an exasperated sigh and squeezes his shoulder. "I know something's up with you. And that just proved it. I just want you to know I'm here for you. Just one text away."

Stiles looks up at Laura. At her kind eyes and her soft smile. He smiles back and he tentatively thinks he'd love to meet the Hanley family one day.

"Nothings up. I er - I have a date-" WHAT. "tonight." What the jesus-cracker frigging-dog-on-a-popsicle-stick did he just say. Da-D- He can't even mentally repeat it.

"Do you!? Oh my god, that's why you've been so nervous. Who is it? He? She? I'm sorry Dom but you look like you're swinging for both teams." Laura exclaims getting wa-hay more excited than Stiles can deal with.

"Him." MOUTH. SHUT THE FUCK UP. "It's a him. And he's really freaking hot." MOUTH, YOU ARE A DICKWIPE. BRAIN HATES YOU. SO DOES HEART.

"Oh my god! Dominic Stils! I'm so excited for you! My brother's got a date tonight too and he is freaking out." She says grinning like a proud, proud parent. Stiles forces a grin and awkwardly slaps his knee. Laura's phone begins to vibrate and she shimmies it out of her pocket quickly answering.

"Hey De-Dale." She says, Stiles lifts an eyebrow at that and she smiles sheepishly.

"Calm down. I'm coming. No, what the fuck Der-Dale don't wear the jacket! Yes I am."

There's an awkward silence as the other end of the phone is obviously jeering Laura. 

"Dominic." Laura sighs and packs her shit up. "Not that way! He's one of the actors, ew!" She mouths 'sorry, my brothers a freak.' at him and Stiles shrugs for her. "He has a date tonight, you douche."

Stiles sighs, picks up his bag and walks out the theatre, waving the distracted Laura a halfhearted goodbye.

"How would I know if he puts out on the first date!"

-

Stiles fidgets uncomfortably, itching to pull his shirt down a bit.

"No."

"What's wrong with this one?!" Stiles finally breaks. Six outfits. Erica had said that infruitatingly simple no, to six fucking outfits already. And it was quarter to six.

He looks at Lydia and Allison who just shrug and go back to watching Derek's interviews on his laptop. Because that wasn't weird or anything.

"You look like a kid, Stiles! You look like you just walked off the campus." She says throwing him a long sleeved brown T-shirt.

"Erica, I LIVE ON CAMPUS!" Stiles screams at her, shoving the T-shirt on as quick as he could over his head.

"Alright, bitch tits, calm down." she says with a fond freaking smile, as though Stiles is her stupid kid or something. Oh dear god. The mental images.

Erica fusses up his hair that he had painstakingly styled before hand before slapping his arse. 

Stiles wasn't nervous, he thought to himself as they got into Erica's car.

"I'm not nervous." He tells her when he had to get out again.

"I don't look nervous do I?" he asks the waiter at the café.

Stiles is nervous. He is so freaking nervous. What is he going to say? What was Derek going to say? _Oh hey Stiles, sorry I rejected you, be my mate, for the good of the world. Also did you know that my voice melts the heart of witches?_

He forces his leg to stop shaking and wills himself to calm down. He could do this, he tells himself, breathing deeply. He could look at Derek without becoming a mess of taut emotions. 

_I can look at Derek. I can look at Derek._

It's ten past six.

Stiles checks his phone, thinking maybe he'd missed a message or something.

Nope nothing.

He orders himself a passionfruit smoothie and sits slurping it for next to twenty minutes.

Slowly, the nerves begin to fade and fear replaces them. Fear that Derek was going to stand him up. Again.

Now he was pissed. Stiles shruggs his jacket on and storms out the cafe.

Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck Derek fucking Hale.

_Derek was close. So close to him, they were breathing the same air. If he moved, less than an inch forword, their lips wouldbe touching. He'd be kissing Derek Hale. His Derek Hale._

_"Derek." he whispered. "I-"_

_"Stiles." Derek growled, eyes flashing bright blue. He framed Stiles face with his arms against the wall. Menacing, intimidating. But Stiles wasn't scared._

_Stiles slipped his cold hand under Derek's shirt and both of them closed their eye's at the feeling._

_"Derek, I think I lo-"_

_"No." Derek growled again, louder this time. He jerked back away from Stiles and the cold air hit Stiles like a blow. "Are you kidding me?" Derek asked, his eyes back to their normal colour._

_"What?" Stiles asked. Because-what?_

_"Do you really think, me and you, are going to work? Please tell me you aren't that freaking stupid." Derek said, his tone low and vibrating with barely controlled anger._

_Stiles looked up, straight into Derek's god forsaken eyes._

_"I thought-I thought we-"_

_"You thought wrong, Stiles. I can never love you." Derek shouted at him._

_Stiles felt his knees go weak. His heart thudded loudly in his chest and his eye's stung._

_No. Surely, no. This had be a joke._

_"Derek. Please" He hated how his voice broke on the word. "tell me you're joking."_

_Derek didn't say anything. He just grabbed his keys from the floor and backed towards the window._

_"If you're lying I'll never forgive you." Stiles whispered, knowing Derek would pick it up. Derek paused at the window, a slight hesitation._

_"I'm not lying."_

_Derek disappeared out his window and Stiles knees gave out. He slipped to the floor, sobbing. He didn't know how long he stayed that way. Cursing himself for  how stupid he'd been, painful noises being wretched from his heart. The pain was white hot, too painful to register._

_To this day that had been the worst moment of his life._

_  
_Stiles phone vibrates and he brings it out, hugging into himself a bit more as he does.

"Yeah?" he manages though his voice is hoarse from crying and his arse hates the cold concrete ground.

"Stiles."

Stiles freezes, his heart begins to beat faster.

"Yeah." he replies.

"Where are you?"

Stiles can't talk. He can't open his mouth to talk. Two years since he's heard that voice. Stiles has had a full two years to get over the effect it has on him. He wasn't a reckless teenage boy anymore, he'd grown into a strong, independent, stable person. But god, Derek's _voice_. It made him shut his eyes and lean his head back against the brick wall.

He looks up and around, noticing for the first time where he was.

"I'm.. I'm at Keith-Albee. Queens." MOUTH. NO. BAD MOUTH. 

"Wait for me." Derek says.

"I will." Stiles replies.

 


	5. Hales are Conducive to Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short.   
> And I shall make up for it in the next chapter, but I kind of just wanted this one to be fully Stiles POV. To make certain things more memorable.  
> Also did you guys know that this fic has given me the highest number of kudos i have ever recieved?  
> Thank you so so much, I can't believe the response.  
> As always drop me a comment, they're my faves!  
> I love everybody!

Stiles put his head between his knees and took deep shuddering breaths, trying to calm his anxious heart.

In the back of his mind he was aware of how the damp old smell of the theatre cleared his nose and how the cold of the stage floor softened his clammy hands.

He wondered, minutely, how many talented actors and actresses had graced this theatre, this very stage. He imagined their nerves, their bright smiles, their hopes and dreams and above all, their drama.

He fused his scared and anxious self with the ghosts of this past, each line, each black out, taming the butterflys one by one.

His breathing became less unstable and Stiles found he could finally look up.

To see Derek standing two feet from the edge of the stage.

"Bah!"Stiles shouts, flailing. "Dude!" he scurries backwards unconciously.

Derek just raises an eyebrow - a god damn eyebrow - at him and waits, silently, with his hands in the pocket of his leather jacket.

Stiles calms his breathing and takes a minute to mourn for the loss of what could have been the cliche, running-to-eachothers-arms, confessing-emotions and somehow-kiss-through-torrential-rain moment of the cynical movie that is his life. 

Seriously Stilinski, "Bah"? That's what he had to say. He really hates himself sometimes. Sometimes being the operative word, because he suddenly remembers why Derek is here and why here is an abandoned theatre.

"You bastard." He seethes, standing up and jumping off stage to stand directly in front of Derek. "You absolute fuck."

"Stiles-" Derek starts, sighing and looking down as though Stiles is acting like the child in this situation.

And if that doesn't just ruffle his hypothetical and damn soft feathers.

"No." Stiles interrupts narrowing his eyes. "You don't get to talk, you said your fucking part. On TV, De- Derek!" he curses himself for choking up on his name.

"I don't regret it." Derek says firmly, his hands clenching into fists by his side.

Stiles just looks at him, with an incredulous expression. He takes in Derek's wind mussed hair, the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his lips. The anger in him flames and roars, abashing him for his uncontrollable fucking feelings. Fuck.

He realises with a start that he can't do this. He can't be in front of Derek, his Derek. Not after everything. There's too much pain, there's too much distrust in Stiles for him to be okay with this. Derek will just fuck off again, back to his rich lifestyle, back to performing in front of thousands of people who want him just as much as Stiles does. And god that hurts, just as bad as it did two years ago. To think, to truly believe that you were this person's one and only, his fucking mate, and then to have that come crashing down.

Derek hasn't said a word since The Incident, two years ago.

Derek stood Stiles up, after he joked about his feelings on TV.

Derek-

Derek doesn't want-

He doesn't want Stiles.

His vision starts to fuzz, and Derek's face, his handsome face, flies in and out of focus rapidly. Stiles knows whats coming.

Stiles can't breathe. Dimly, he's aware of his knee's hitting the ground, and he thanks god, because it was dizzy, so dizzy when he was stood.

He knows what's coming. He knows it's going to be terrible. And if anything the realisation, that this is happening now, in front of Derek, it makes the sense of impending doom explode.

He hears choked breathes, frantic gasps and he hopes to god they aren't him. Dampness falls on his shirt, barely acknowledged and his chest tightens further.

Derek. Derek is going to leave him. 

He's trembling and he can't stop. He's not there anymore, it doesn't feel real. Nothing feels real.

He chokes on Derek's name.

He sobs on "Fuck y-you."

There are arms around him. Strong arms, familair ones. The scent of Derek fills his mind, thick, mind consuming. Still he can't calm down.

He struggles to get out of his arms, trapped. They're making him trapped. He needs to get out, escape. 

"-iles! Stiles!"

He's slipping into bliss. A smooth unconciousness that promises no pain. He goes willingly.

"God don't hate me." is the last thing Stile's hears before the black creeps over his being.

-

 


	6. Case History: Stilinski, Stiles (Anxiety)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did somebody say Derek deserved pain?  
> No?  
> Oh well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously you guys, I'm not happy with this chapter.  
> But tell me what you think.  
> SORRY FOR THE SUSPENSE.  
> I love you, thank you for reading, commenting and kudo'ing. (Major FREAKOUT because over 100 kudos! Omg! i just wow! yay!)

Derek keeps his head down and his hood up as he runs to his car. With an unconscious Stiles in his arms.

He's there, he swears he's almost there, when he hears it. Really with his hearing it's imposible not to.

_"Is that Derek Hale?"_

Shit. Shit.

Fucking shit.

Derek keeps on running even though he hears it, the tell tale snap of a camera.

He makes it to the Camaro  his gorgeous camaro with the blacked out windows and speeds away from the fucking public. It'll be on the news, everywhere, of course it will but Derek can't bring himself to care. Not with Stiles passed out beside him.

"Call Scott McCall." he growls as he pushes the car up to seventy on the motor way.

"Hello, Derek. Calling Scott McCall." His phone answers monotonously for him.

As the phone rings he looks over to Stiles, just so he won't lose his fucking patience he tells himself.

Stiles. Stiles Stilinski. 

God, he was gorgeous.

He's definitely grown. His hair was longer, chocolate brown and thick. His eyelashes were long against his cheeks and teased derek with their playful shadows. 

Derek had always known Stiles was beautiful. Beautiful. No other word really would describe how Derek saw him. His unwavering loyalty, his big heart, his fantastic mind, it was all beautiful.

But looking at him now, after two years of denial  after two years of refusing his wolf what it so needed, Stiles looked unbelievable. And Derek could barley believe it.

"Derek! Dude, how are you? Bad move on Stiles, you should have told me you two we-

"Scott." He growls, fingers flexing against the wheel. "Stiles passed out."

Silence meets him on the other side. Scott was angry, Derek could feel that through the peculiar bond that was of Mentor and Pup. He was trying to control his wolf.

"Derek, what the fuck." Scott says stiffly.

Derek sighs, Scott always chose the wrong fucking times to get emotional.

"Just, where do you live? Or should I take him to the hospital?" 

"Seventy five, third avenue north. I'll meet you at the front. Keep his head up." Scott hangs up on and Derek speeds down New York.

So Stiles lived on campus. Stiles was in University.

Stiles was right next to him. Derek breathes out again  stealing yet another glance at the very real and not a figment of his torturous imagination Stiles.

Subconsciously his hand slides from the wheel to find Stiles's. And god, he holds on tight and tries to ignore how Stiles visibly relaxes at his touch. 

That wasn't something he wanted to think about yet. He'd been avoiding it for two years, one more day wouldn't hurt.

He pulls infront of campus and as soon as he's out Scott chucks him a sweater and a hat. He pulls Derek into a small hug and doesn't look at him. Derek pats him fondly on the back, trying to keep the nostalgia at bay.

"The press." Is all he offers as an explanation and Derek shrugs on the clothes, keeping his head down.

For a second he thinks Scott's going to carry Stiles and he panics slightly, his wolf whimpering at the loss of his mate after having found him again.

But he doesn't. He steps to the side and gives Derek a pointed look as he carries Stiles out of his car. Derek's small sigh of relief is enough of a thank you.

They walk in silence. It was late, late enough for everyone to either be in their room's or out getting drunk. Still, Derek keeps his head down as Scott leads them to their block and eventually to their room.

It's a nice place Derek thinks as he puts Stiles down gently onto his bed. Very nice for first years. They both had separate rooms and even a small living area with an attached kitchenette.

"Nice place," he mutters to Scott as he moves to take boy's clothes off. Scott gestures towards the sofa and Derek sits down. "Scott, Stiles. Is he- He has anxiety?" Derek starts.

"Yes." Scott replies sitting beside him.

Derek can feel the tension filling the room.

"I thought it's unlikely to faint from a panic attack."

Scott laughs. A dark, twisted sound that seems wrong coming out of Scott's mouth. Derek immediately puts his defences up.

"Derek. You thought that leaving your fucking mate for two years would leave him perfectly okay and just dandy?" Scott spits at him.

"How do you know." Derek growls at him, nobody should know, nobody could fucking know that he and Stiles were mates. 

"Seriously?!" Scoot suddenly shouts in an influx of emotion. "ARE YOU SERIOUSLY THAT DUMB, DEREK?" 

The pup is on his feet, pacing angrily, his eye's turning an angry amber. 

Derek shoves his hands into fists and barely acknowledges the pain when is claws dig into the flesh of his palm.

"Scott." he manages, though his voice sounds more animalistic than human. "Stand down. Now."

Scott realises his mistake and immediately diverts his scornful gaze to the floor, head drooped in submission.

"How the fuck did you know Stiles was my mate?" Derek asks again, once he's sure his eye's are no longer electric blue and the wounds on his hands have healed. Scott slumps beside him on the sofa again, and Derek can practically smell the grief coming of him. 

He closes his eyes against the emotion as Scott begins to talk.

"Derek.. When you left, Stiles was- he was in a bad place." Scotts breath hitches and Derek is whammed with the intensity of the guilt, the regret, the pain that Scott is suddenly feeling.

"Sc-Scott," He chokes out. Scott snaps out of his daze and looks back at Derek as though he only just noticed him, he smiles a sad yet sheepish smile in apology.

"I took him to the hospital after he started puking blood," Derek whimpers at that, at the thought of his Stiles in such pain. "And Deaton told us that this was part of the side effects when a bond between a wolf and his mate is stretched." Scott exhales and shakes himself. "So of course, Stiles kind of figured out that you two were mates and dude, he freaking hated you."

Derek nods at that, understandable.

"He asked Deaton how to destroy the bond."

Derek's heart begins to beat frantically, he's scared so scared of that, of losing Stiles, his anchor.

"He said it wasn't possible."

Derek could finally breathe.

"His anxiety got worse, he developed a mild case of kakarrhaphiophobia and when they happen together it can be severe, which is why he fainted."

"Kakarrhaphiophobia?"

"It's a fear of, well, a fear of defeat, a fear of failing. Rejection. You could say."

And just as Derek thought it couldn't get worse, just as he thought what he'd caused would surely end there, Scott had told him this. And the guilt was so raw, so overpowering that he could barely breathe through it. He could barely fucking stand against the pain, the realisation of what he had done to his mate.

Two years age, when Derek had finally discovered what Stiles had meant to him, he'd ran away. Knowing he wasn't worth it, knowing he wasn't good enough. He thought he'd fixed up, he thought now Stiles was older he'd have a chance to decide for himself whether Derek was worth it or not.

How fucking wrong he'd been.

He would never be worth Stiles Stilinski.

Not two years ago and definitely not now.

"I'm sorry Derek, but you have to know how it was aft-"

"Shut up Scott."

Derek and Scott both look up at Stiles slouching in the door way of his room.

And once more Derek just finds his breath taken away by the man's beauty, by his mates beauty. 

"Stiles I-"

"Scott. I said shut up." Stiles says, not even looking at him instead staring at Derek with a gaze so intense Derek feels like his skin is being burnt.

"Stiles-"

Stiles closes his eyes and puts a hand up, immediately Derek shuts up, his wolf trying in small ways to please his mate.

"You." Stiles says at last, pointing to Derek. And Derek's wolf leaps at the attention from his mate. Derek, the human, however schools his features into a scowl. Living up to expectations.

"My room. Now."

Derek gets up in a swift movement. He glares at Scott in a silent warning not to say anything about his emotions of earlier.

If Stiles thought he was a prick, if Stiles needed him to be a god damn prick; then that's exactly what he'll be.

Of course that plan flew out the window when Stiles slammed the door shut behind him and kisses him viciously against the door.


	7. Just Another Sob Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I GIVE YOU ONE MORE CHAPTER. THIS HAS TAKEN OVER MY LIFE.  
> Seriously come on down to tumblr and have a chat with me :)  
> Also it's my headcanon that Stiles is a fandom god, you should find a load of small hints to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry  
> *kart wheels into the sun*

Stiles shoves Derek against the door and kisses him for all he's worth.

Over his dead freaking body will his first kiss be with some pretentious little snob, on stage, IN FRONT OF HIS FREAKING FATHER.

Stiles doesn't care if Ernest has to snog his way through a scene with a needy skinny hipstress, Stiles Stilinski wants to be with a emotionally crippled werewolf.

Nope. No way will he let his first kiss be on stage.

It was either kiss Derek or attempt to live through the pent up embarrassment.

Of course, that's what he tells himself.

It has nothing to do with the way he panicked when he woke up to find Derek gone.

It has nothing to do with the way he's been dreaming about those lips for every single fucking night of the past two fucking years.

It has nothing to do with his serious lack of impulse control (READ: resistance to the freaking-bastard-celebrity-that-just-so-happens-to-be-his-one-and-only-and-just-so-happens-to be-so-hot-he-could-melt-all-of-freaking-Jotunheim)

Nope. No sir. Kissing Derek passionately against the wall of his shitty room has nothing to do with how much he's missed the man, how's much he's missed Derek's face, his laugh, his fucking eyes. It has nothing to do with the terrible out of body experience Stiles gets when he hears his voice.

It has nothing to do with the fact that Stiles is seriously in love with him.

In love. With Derek Hale.

Come on, we all saw it coming. You don't become mates and just stay friends. 

God-fucking-dammit all to fucking Mordor.

A small nip on his bottom lip brings Stiles back to the present and oh jesus and Jerusalem what a sinful, dirty place to be.

Derek is kissing him back, finally, finally, with his hands on Stiles' hips, thumbs brushing under his T-shirt. Stiles can barely breathe, he wraps his arms around Derek's neck, clutching on to his hair. 

Derek's lips are soft, softer than they look and they glide against Stiles' so easily, like they were made for it. Stiles opens his mouth and of course, freaking Derek and his lack of freaking patience, shoves his tongue down Stiles' throat.

Funny thing is, Stiles does exactly the same thing.

Their both panting hard when Derek flips them and shoves Stiles against the door, groaning when Stiles hips automatically jerk up against his. Stiles doesn't even let himself feel like a two dollar whore, moaning every other breath, because seriously if this is a thing that two dollar whores get he needs to consider a serious career change. Pfft, acting, what a joke.

God, this is-this is amazing. It's perfect, it's so fucking perfect. 

And of course Derek ruins everything because Stiles, he doesn't get perfect. It just doesn't happen.

He pulls back from Stiles, eye's flashing an electric blue and his hands balled up into fists either side of Stiles head on the wall. And Stiles is too dazed to be creeped out by how much that turns him on, being caged in by Derek.

"Why are you doing this?" Derek growls, face tense with the strain of holding himself back. Stiles takes a small amount of glee from that, but not much cos he was still, you know, kissed senseless and all.

He tries to clear his muddled brain to answer Derek an answer that makes sense. He can't just open his mouth and say "I werewolf-love you Derek, thats why."

Can he?

"I we-"

NOPE. Stiles shuts his mouth faster than Wally West on a good day and lets his head drop onto Derek's shoulder because nnngh. Kiss. Very good.

So what if the only action Stiles had seen was his hand, lube and awkwardly angled fingers? It doesn't mean anything, except that Stiles was an honorable man who wanted to be as virtuos and as pure as- Yeah, no. It was because he couldn't stand the thought of it being anyone, anyone at all, but Derek. His mate. Fucking werewolves.

"Stiles?" Derek whispers, _whispers._ And no. How that fucking snaps Stiles out of his bliss. Because this is Derek, Derek who left him bleeding, shaking and crying every single night. Derek who fucked up his whole fucking life. Derek who could just as easily do it all again.

He just- he's not allowed to sound like that, all caring and affectionate and so fucking emotional his voice is dripping with it. Not after what he did.

No fucking way.

"Back the fuck off, Derek." Stiles spits at him, closing his eyes briefly and breathing deep. All (some, a small amount of) his arousal has disappeared and it leaves Stiles with a dirty feeling. His skin is buzzing and he feels anticipation and anger swirl an unhealthy mix in his stomach.

Derek doesn't move.

"Stiles? Wha-"

"I said get the fuck away from me." Stiles so wants to shout, to scream at him. It feels wrong, he feels so violated. He wants it, don't get him wrong he wants it so bad but, Derek, jesus, Derek fucking broke him and Stiles is just, he's just letting Derek do it again.

And he can't. He can't be that stupid boy that let Derek break his heart. He can't live through it a second time.

He won't.

Derek moves back, with his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender.

Derek is fucking gorgeous, now Stiles has a chance to properly see him.

He's wearing dark jeans, as usual, but the monochromatic top is no where to be seen. Underneath his leather jacket, Derek's wearing a [light purple V-neck](http://sourirpourmoi.tumblr.com/post/51959784499/alphalewolf-hoechlin-please-control-yourself) and jesus does it bring out his eyes. His hair hasn't changed, still thick and messy. And his stubble hasn't either, a gruff looking, oozing out murderous vibes but coupled with the guys fucking smile just knocks you over.

Freaking Derek and his freaking perfect features. The god damn Jensen Ackles of the werewolf world.

"Can you just not?" Stiles lets out knowing full well how whiny he sounds but doesn't even care because _purple v-neck._

 _"_ Not what?" Derek freaking asks, going to sit on his bed like he owns it. Stiles doesn't really care, considering the guy just fits. On Stiles bed that is. _  
_

Oh holy mother of pearl, down boy!

"I can't even!" Stiles flails running his hands through his hair. He can't, okay, he has officially stopped can-ing, because he's supposed to hate Derek, any sane, normal person would fucking hate Derek.

They wouldn't want to climb him like a fucking tree and simultaneously cuddle with him.

"Stiles! What? What can't you?!" Derek says getting more and more confused and panicked by Stiles' major freak out. His eyebrows pull together in concern and Stiles almost goes to kiss the crease away.

He doesn't. Because he hates Derek. Yep, that's right. He. (Doesn't) Hates. Derek.

(Liar.)

Stiles takes a damn deep breath and tries to seriously calm down, because he can't do this, he can't get answers if he isn't calm.

 "You stood me up." Stiles says, adopting the calmest persona he can think of. Yeah, it's Agent Coulson, so what? Fuck you.

Derek sighs and suddenly he looks so much older, like gallifreyan style old, all worn out with too many losses to count and guilt that ways down on a normally happy and cheerful GERONIMO!, making it sound sad and all heartbroken.

"My agent wasn't quite finished with me by six. I'm sorry, Boyd can be very adamant about things."

"Your agent? For your music career? Oh yeah, when the fuck did that happen, D-Derek?!" Stiles stutters out, pacing across the length of his room, unconsciously getting closer to Derek as he does.

"It happened two years ago, Stiles. I started busking, I got scouted. That's it, no blood on my hands."

"Bullshit." Stiles says, stopping directly in front of Derek with his hands on his hips. Derek Hale? Werewolf extraordinaire? Busking?! Scrap that. Singing?! It just doesn't seem real, right, even after watching Derek live. Even after the music had drove him to tears. Derek had never been into music. Like, legit ever.

The Bon Iver CD's in the side of his camaro didn't count.

Or the 72GB IPod Classic.

Who even has one of those anymore? Not Stiles.

"It's not bullshit, I-I love it. Stiles, I need it." Derek smiles sheepishly and ducks his head. Stiles does not find it adorable. Fuck you.

"So what you're a big celebrity now?"

"I don't know, what defines a celebrity? I'm just a guy who loves to-"

"Save that sob story for the press Derek, I don't want to hear that shit. Yeah, you're a fucking celebrity. You were on the front page. Oh wait, sorry, I was on the front page. Because you said my name. You fucking claimed me. On TV."

And suddenly Stiles can feel himself getting worked up, he can feel the breath disappearing from his lungs because he's so fucking scared. What can he do? He's trapped, there's nowhere to go where he won't get hurt and he promised, he promised himself never again. Never again let it hurt that bad.

Derek grabs his hand and the panic disappears.

It's like there's a huge switch and it's screaming DO NOT PRESS. And when Stiles curls his fingers around Derek's, that's him slamming it down. Derek slowly brushes his thumb across Stiles' skin leaving goosebumps that have nothing to do with the cold.

Stiles can't help himself, he leans closer into Derek's body.

Into his mates embrace.

The door slams open with a loud crash and Stiles jerks back to turn his most evilest and cruelest eyes upon the intruder, which just so happens to be-

"Laura?" Derek says, sounding all kinds of surprised and stealing the name from the tip of Stiles tongue. Unfortunately he didn't do it literally.

"Derek?!" Laura asks, and woah. Stiles' mind just needs to catch up here because there's Derek on his right, Derek, his mate, who he should have left in California. And then there's Laura in front of him, the director of his play, who he'd always assumed just lived all her life in NY. Something is seriously fucked up if these two know each other.

And then it clicks. And Stiles is just pissed again.

"You two fuck each other don't you?" He grumbles, shoving past Derek to grab some socks.

"EWW! Gross! Seriously! EW! No!" Laura splutters out at him, flailing her hands about expressively in front of her, in a very Laura way.

"Hey! I'm not that bad.." Derek says, with no shame, absolutely no shame. Or guilt. Seriously, how can the guy not even feel sorry?!

"You're sickening, you know that?" 

"Not as bad as your apple pie last thanksgiving."

"Then how come you finished it? Huh?" 

"I felt bad for your fat pug, it would just die if it had to eat that."

"FIFI IS NOT FAT, DEREK."

Derek bursts out laughing then and Stiles doesn't stop the smile that comes to his face, because Derek laughing is something that should be caught on camera and played everywhere constantly. In a totally non-creeper fashion.

"Stiles," Stiles looks up to Derek, "This is my sister. Laura."

Oh. Of course! It's so obvious, they even look the same! Well similar, kind of, they had different eyes. Stiles keeps looking from Derek to Laura, noting the similarities and the differences.

He doesn't even notice when Laura's mouth drops.

"Dominic..." she whispers.

Shit.

 

 

 

 


	9. Media Interval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek Hale's cover for Life magazine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't kill me?  
> I know it's not a new chapter and I'm really sorry but for the life of me I just can't finish this chapter.  
> *offers this tentatively to you*  
> Please accept my humblest apologies and expect more media from this 'verse.
> 
>  
> 
> (I love you)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr! :D  
> Come by if you want to chat or if you have any questions about the fic.  
> Or suggestions, always up for more of them :)  
> But yeah come by and tell me what you think  
> http://sourirpourmoi.tumblr.com/


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